


FitzSimmons SongFics

by AoSfangirl81



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Children, F/M, Fitz - Freeform, FitzSimmons - Freeform, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Future Fic, Hurt, OCs - Freeform, PTSD, Past Fic, Post-Maveth, Relationship(s), Simmons - Freeform, Songfic, otp, present fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-23
Updated: 2017-08-20
Packaged: 2018-07-16 18:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7278655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AoSfangirl81/pseuds/AoSfangirl81
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A handful of FitzSimmons songfics set at different stages throughout their relationship. All canon compliant. Some angst, some fluff, all FitzSimmons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Basket Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set post-Maveth, Simmons struggles to recover and find her way back to Fitz. Based off the Sara Bareilles song, Basketcase. Listen here: https://youtu.be/VCTt4hFBek4

_I don't want to talk about it to you_   
_I'm not an open book that you can rifle through_   
_The cold hard truth that you'll see right to_   
_I'm just basket case without you_

She can feel him trying to figure her out, trying to find the problem to fix, and it just fills her with more anxiety. She retreats deeper into herself every time she feels him digging, with his eyes, with his careful touches and quiet voice and so much patience. The rational part of her brain reminds her that he’s trying to help, that she was once in his place and he in hers, and all she wanted to do was to help fix him. But the buzzing anxiety in her is too loud and she is too exhausted to try and fight it. She felt herself balance in this terrible limbo between the two truths that lay before her- he was the only person she wanted to talk to about this, the only person she truly needed, and yet she knew he was the one person who would be hurt most by her truth, who would be destroyed by her betrayal (betrayal? Not really, because what had she really done besides what it took to survive? But would he see it as betrayal? Why did her mind keep going back to that word?) once she revealed it. She wasn’t ready to inflict that, didn’t know if she would ever be, and every time he tried to peer into her, she felt less and less ready to let him in and yet more and more in need of his comfort. It was a torturous dance she was doing in her head, and she could see how it was hurting him, her best friend in the world, the person who meant more to her than anyone else, but knowing the alternative would hurt even more. Even his everlasting patience would eventually grow thin. She found herself wondering about what kind of undercover mission _he’d_ eagerly accept to escape _her_ this time...

_He's not a magic man or a perfect fit_  
_But had a steady hand and I got used to it_  
_And a glass cage heart that invited me in_  
_And now I'm just a basket case without him_

Will. She left him there. The man that was not, could never be Fitz, but he was someone important to her who she grew to care about very deeply. He was there for her, they supported each other, and now he was still in that hell, or worse, dead, because of her. The guilt ate her up inside, her dreams filled with the ‘what ifs’ of what might have happened to him. He had been so kind to her, so patient. When she was standing on the tiniest, slickest, wet pebble of hope that she could get back to Fitz, to her home, against a roaring rapid of despair, he supported her. And when she slipped and fell and looked around and found only sand, she couldn’t find any more hope to balance on. And without that hope, she crumbled. She didn’t have the strength to stop herself from accepting that this was going to be her life now, and if she couldn’t get back to Fitz, to her home, she would have to accept a different home. It would never fill her with the joy and peace and excitement all at once that Fitz did, but it was still someone who cared about her and someone she could care for. Will was a rock, and he was kind and good and they kept each other from the edge of despair, and at first sight of that flare gun, she abandoned him. She tried so hard to wait for him, to bring him with her, but she failed. She knows she has to save him, and hopes she can figure it out without pulling anyone else into it. She can do this- she can save Will. She can be the hero everyone thinks she is.

_You're begging for the truth_  
_So I'm saying it to you_  
_I've been saving your place_  
_And what good does it do?_  
_Now I'm just a basket case_

She’s constantly buzzing, buzzing, buzzing. Every noise, every sight, every sense fills her with anxiety. It was all so familiar to her, and now it’s not, and she knows it should be, knows in her rational brain that she wasn’t gone for that long, and that makes her feel even more anxious. What if she never feels normal again? What if she never readjusts? Days go by as she continues to unravel on the inside, hoping no one notices that she wears the same clothes every day (how did she deal with so many choices before??) and never quite looks anyone in the eye, afraid that she won’t recognize them either.

But Fitz doesn’t let her get away with it. Of course he wouldn’t. 

“Why do you want to rebuild the portal, Jemma?”

And now she’s caught. He knows. He knows she’s trying to get back and he’s begging to know why, because how could he even begin to know? They all think she was alone on that horrible planet, that somehow she had enough strength to survive on her own. But she wasn’t the brave hero they thought she was, and the shame burns in her throat every single day. It fuels her need to save Will, to bring him home.

And her rational brain, in the rare moments when the buzzing is quiet enough for her to hear it, knows that secrets and leaving things unspoken are what lost her a year of her life with Fitz, what caused a chasm so large she once thought it would never be repaired. She knows she needs to tell him, and in doing so, reveal her truth (her betrayal?). And finally, after Bobbi’s encouragement, she tries to explain what happened on the other side- that she tried so, so hard to get back home, to get back to him. That she gripped onto that hope with the strongest grip she had, but that she wasn’t as strong as she wanted to be, as he thought she was. She tried to explain how much he was there with her, in her head and in her heart, and how she spoke to him every single day on that planet. That his space in her would never go away, but when she lost grip of that hope and couldn’t convince herself anymore that she would see him again, a part of her died. 

And what remained sought comfort, needed to be comforted. She needed to grieve that part of her dying, that place in her heart that was her and Fitz, that was the Academy and endless hours of buzzing connectedness and stolen glances and daydreams of Perthshire. And Will was there to comfort her, and to help her feel less alone. They connected, not just over the shared despair of never being able to leave that awful place, but in a way that she would never be able to fully explain. She had started to get used to her life with him, no matter how bizarre and strange and different, she settled into something real with him. She never lost that loneliness- every day she woke up with that ache in her heart where Fitz was supposed to be, and she lived with it. But Will helped her live with it, because he was a good man, and she had to get him back. 

She has no idea if Fitz gets it, if he understands what it means, what he still means to her, and before she can ask him, before she can read his eyes and see if he feels the betrayal that she’s convinced herself he should feel, he’s on his feet and he’s trying to fix things. To help her. Maybe it’s a relief to him that there’s something tangible to fix, something quantifiable and solid, as opposed to her jumble of nerves and emotions that she doesn’t even have a handle on. But she can’t help but feel relieved that he’ll help her, that they’ll do everything they can to save Will. Even though it means another delicate, razor thin balance between relief that he’ll help and guilt at what he’s actually helping her do. The rest she’ll figure out later. Now she can focus on doing good. After all of the hurt and betrayal and pain, she can finally try and do something good. And she can do it with Fitz. They can do what they do best- solve problems. Together.

_You're begging for the truth_  
_So I'm saying it to you_  
_I've been saving your place_  
_And what good does it do?_  
_Now I'm just a basket case_

_Won't somebody come on in and tug at my seams?_  
_Oh, send your armies in of robbers and thieves_  
_To steal the state I'm in I don't want it anymore_

Concentrating on something, anything other than the guilt and anxiety she feels, helps. But she knows it’s a tenuous balance, her bundle of nerves and pain and guilt and shame and hopes and fears and wishes and truths tied up with the loosest of knots. One pull and it’ll all come tumbling out. She feels it spilling out the sides when she looks Fitz in the eyes and sees how bloody devoted he is to her, how he’s steadfastly helping her bring back a man that, to him, could threaten everything they could have had. And she’s so confused with her guilt and hurt and love and just exhaustion from hurting the people she cares about time and time again that she doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t trust anything she would say at this point. Anything she says is based on a tenuous understanding of her own emotions, and until she figures that out, she refuses to say anything that could lead him one way or the other. He deserves the truth, and once she actually figures that out, he’ll be the first to know. But for now, it’s all she can do to not simultaneously kiss him and run away at the same time.

_You're begging for the truth_  
_So I'm saying it to you_

Before she can figure any of it out, even start to slowly unravel any of it, he demands answers she hasn’t worked out yet. “Do you love him?” Fitz asks her, eyes full of desperation, face flushed with so many emotions.

Does she love Will? What does that even mean? She knows Fitz deserves an honest answer for the daring question he asked, putting himself out there, so vulnerable. So she pulls at one small thread, praying the rest stays put, and tries to explain. 

“I don’t know, I think… Yes.”

Yes, she loves Will. She is grateful for Will. And while it’s a very real love, it’s such a different love than what she feels for Fitz, and she can’t even put to words, even in her calmest of moments, even before all of this happened, she could never find the words to explain to him the depths of her love, of how much he means to her. She was barely coming to terms with it herself before she was whisked away to that horrible planet. And now everything’s different and hard and she’s trying to wrap her mind around two different kinds of love that she never thought possible. But Fitz still doesn’t get it. She can’t find the words to tell him, and she feels all the threads starting to unravel as the situation escalates, her voice getting louder as she loses more and more of her control, all the while failing to tell Fitz how much he means to her. 

“I can’t hate him, he’s great. Why else would you fall for him? He did everything right.”  
“And you dove through a hole in the universe for me!”

And suddenly his lips are on hers and his hands are on her waist and all she can do is hold onto the table to keep herself up. The buzzing in her head stops as she feels Fitz fill in that space in her heart that is all for him. 

But this is nothing like how she imagined their first kiss to be. It’s full of desperation and frustration and pain. And she wants him, needs him to know what she can’t put into words yet. He pulls back and she approaches him tentatively, needing to erase the pain, to tell him with her lips, even if it’s not with her words, that she’s sorry, God, for so many things, and that she loves him, but she needs to fix herself first, figure this all out, and please know that _I love you_. She pulls back and looks at him with soft eyes, calmer and clearer than she’s felt in a long time. She searches his eyes for recognition of that, hoping that he heard some of it, any of it. But all she sees is more pain, more frustration, more hurt. Because of her. Because that’s who she is now.

“We’re cursed,” he says, defeated. He walks away, and she feels the cold left in his absence. The buzzing grows louder than ever before as more of the threads start to unravel. She brings her hand up to her forehead, trying to quiet it, but it’s no use.

_I've been saving your place_  
_And what good does it do?_  
_Now I'm just a basket case_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, this is really angsty!! I love this song so much and feel it really gets to the heart of what Simmons may have been feeling right after getting back. I usually like seeing Simmons as a much stronger character than this, but let's be real- she went through some tough sh*t and can't always be that strong!
> 
> Besides, we all know it eventually ends well, right? :)


	2. 100 Years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A predominantly fluffy piece that glimpses into the 100 years of Fitz's life. Based off the Five for Fighting Song, "100 Years". Listen here: https://youtu.be/W2WGGNiC8f4

_I'm 15 for a moment_  
_Caught in between 10 and 20_  
_And I'm just dreaming_  
_Counting the ways to where you are_

It was 2 am on a Tuesday, and Fitz was wide awake, sitting at his desk, staring at his computer, his leg bouncing excitedly. ‘Dear Mr. Fitz,’ the letter read. ‘We are pleased to welcome you to the Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division (S.H.I.E.L.D.) Academy’s incoming class of SciOps recruits.’ He read the letter over and over again on his laptop, waves of excitement rolling through his body. The whole thing was still rather surreal. It was just a few months ago that a dapper-looking fellow came by his flat and handed him a card with the same name on it. Mere weeks later, he was whisked away to the Academy and was given a tour of their world class facilities. He couldn’t help but gape in awe at everything he saw during the tour, unable to believe the tools and resources that existed. Finally, he thought, somewhere that could challenge him. He could finally start putting all of his ideas to test. No more hypotheses- this was the real deal. Then it was a matter of a few tests, an interview, an hour in a lab where they could observe him, and now here he was, accepted into the Academy. In a few months, he’d leave his mum and his small town, fly across the ocean, and start this new chapter of his life. It was all a bit overwhelming, but regardless of the trepidations he had, the pangs of guilt he felt leaving his mum by herself, he knew this was the chance of a lifetime, and he couldn’t let it pass him by.

Along with the letter was a roster of the incoming class, as the letter explained, to get to know his fellow recruits. He clicked on the encrypted folder and started eagerly scanning the roster, looking at the names, photos, and backgrounds of his future classmates. Most of them were clearly a few years older than Fitz, but that was no surprise. He was used to being the youngest person in the room, between all of the grades he skipped to taking uni courses when he was 12 to now just finishing up his PhD. He read through some of the bios , hoping to find someone that he could connect with. This was going to be different, he thought. No more awkward shy kid that nobody understood. Maybe he’d still be awkward and shy, but surely he’d find someone who understood him at a place like the Academy. He was going to make friends, or at least a friend. He had promised his mum as much. Between his quiet demeanor and the fact that he was always so much younger than everyone else around him, he hadn’t made a lot of lasting friendships in his small town. He frowned as he thought through some of his more disastrous attempts at making friends throughout his youth. Surely he’d be able to find others with something more in common with him at the Academy. It had to be full of people just like him, people who didn’t quite fit in, who weren’t quite understood. This time it would be different, he thought. It quickly became his mantra.

He kept scanning the roster, hungrily looking for anything that would indicate a potential friend. While he was impressed at the pedigrees of his classmates (inventors, doctors, researchers…), his eyes stopped on the picture of a young girl who surely had to be around the same age as him. Maybe that’s a start, he thought. Someone else his age, who maybe knew what it was like to constantly be surrounded by people older than you, the way they underestimated you, treated you differently. _Jemma Simmons_. While her interests were solidly in the biology side of science (gross), he was still intrigued. Not only was it someone his age, but also someone from the UK. Surely that would be enough to at least start up a conversation, right? He would make sure to keep an eye out for her once they arrived on campus. Even if they didn’t become friends, he could already think of ways in which they would be able to partner on various projects he had been working on. But, honestly, a friend would be enough. This time it would be different, he thought as he looked at the picture.

_I'm 22 for a moment_  
_And she feels better than ever_  
_And we're on fire_  
_Making our way back from Mars_

It was 2 am on a Tuesday night, but it could have been three in the afternoon for all they were aware. They were in the middle of one of their classic FitzSimmons marathons, _this_ close to finally figuring out the exact biochemical cocktail needed for their latest project, the Night Night Gun (“We are still working on a name!” Simmons would exclaim every time he called it that). Everyone else at SciOps had gone home long ago, knowing from experience that it’s best to just leave FitzSimmons alone when they were in the zone- not only to give them their space, but also to save everyone else’s sanity, as the bickering between the two became especially insufferable during these times.

There were Chinese food boxes with single sets of chopsticks carefully set in a corner of a table, far from their workstations (after the cat liver incident, Simmons had marked off a designated food area in their lab as a way of apologizing to Fitz), and every so often Fitz or Simmons would stop by and take a quick bite while waiting for a simulation to run. They moved seamlessly around each other, communicating in gestures, looks, and movements more than actual words. And when they did resort to words, they rarely needed to finish their sentences. “Fitz, what if we recalculated…” Simmons started, “...the reaction time of the trigger! Genius, Simmons!” Fitz exclaimed. They high fived without looking and continued to work around each other. He felt all of his synapses on fire as they effortlessly fed off of each other’s’ energy, propelling them further and further to what he knew would be an amazing final product.

Fitz took a moment to take another bite of an egg roll. His eyes drifted to Simmons, who was staring intently at her tablet, typing away and he felt a wave of warm affection flow through him. He hoped he never got used to the way his veins still coursed with excitement when they worked together- it was unlike anything he had ever experienced. He thought back to when she was just a picture in a roster and it felt like something that happened lifetimes ago, to a different person. He could barely remember what his life before that felt like. Before he (purposefully) bumped into an excitable, brilliant British girl in his first day of Chemistry and forced himself to say something witty and smart to impress her. Even back then, he could have never imagined the direction his life was going to head. He was just hoping to have someone to call a friend, to connect with, but he got so much more. It’s like he had been living in black and white for his entire life and now she- their friendship- had lit his life on fire, colors and excitement everywhere. “Trial number 34,” Simmons said into her phone, pulling Fitz back into the moment (he really did detest the fact that she recorded everything). She looked up at him with an excited smile and his irritation melted away. “I feel really good about this one, Fitz,” she said. “We’re getting really close.” Fitz matched her excited smile and nodded, adding “If we can nail down this cocktail, we could really revolutionize the way weapons are used in the field. Just think, we…” Simmons excitedly finished his sentence, “...could move to completely non-lethal methods, saving so many lives!”

They made it home to their shared apartment right before sunrise and collapsed on the couch. They hadn’t gotten their answer yet, but they knew they were narrowing it down and would soon get to a solution, like they always did. Without needing to communicate anything, Fitz turned on their TV as Simmons queued up the next episode of Dr. Who, a ritual of theirs to help them wind down after particularly long nights. The episode started as they fell into their regular positions on the couch- lying on opposite ends with their heads resting on the arms of the couch and their legs lightly brushing against each other in the middle. Simmons sighed contentedly as Fitz found himself nodding off quickly. The last conscious thought he had before drifting to sleep was how he couldn’t imagine life getting much better than this.

_I'm 33 for a moment_  
_Still the man, but you see I'm a "they"_  
_A kid on the way, babe._  
_A family on my mind_

It was 2 am on a Tuesday night, but this time Fitz was sleeping soundly. Well, he _had_ been sleeping soundly. He woke when he felt the weight in their bed shift as Jemma awkwardly rolled herself over to get up. He heard her pad quietly out of the room and waited a few seconds, debating whether he was going to be able to fall back asleep or if he should get up. Knowing full well that after all these years, her presence was the one thing he needed to help him fall asleep, he got up. He had a feeling he knew where she was headed, and sure enough, he found her in the kitchen, hunched over and rummaging through the refrigerator. She heard his footsteps and, without looking up said, “Would you care to venture what your child is demanding to eat right at this very moment?” She turned her head around and gave him a soft, sleepy smile. “Well, let’s see,” Fitz mused, “If she’s my child, she’d be craving some sort of sweets, yeah?” Jemma rolled her eyes- “Fitz, you know we don’t know the sex. I don’t know why you keep insisting that we’re having a girl.” “I’ve got my reasons,” Fitz murmured as he approached her, rubbing his hand lovingly on her back as she continued her search. Jemma hummed softly, appreciating his warm touch. “Well, you’re half right. Since this is your child, I’m craving sweets, and since it’s my child, I’m craving savory, so….” “So, chocolate covered bacon again?” Fitz asked, kissing her back and moving towards the cupboard to get the skillet. Jemma sighed and nodded as she pulled out the ingredients and shut the refrigerator door. “Honestly, even with my three PhDs, I still can’t quite grasp how I can crave such very specific, utterly random things.” As Fitz set the skillet up, Jemma started prepping the bacon and chocolate. They worked around each other just as effortlessly as if they were in the lab, even with Jemma’s large bump adding an extra challenge to their movements.

They sat at the kitchen table, waiting for the chocolate to cool and harden before digging in. Jemma put her feet up on Fitz’s lap and he began rubbing them. “I’m going to quite miss these frequent foot rubs once our little monkey is born,” she joked. “I promise, Jems, the first thing I’ll teach her is how to give a proper foot rub,” he joked back. Jemma rolled her eyes at Fitz’s mention of “her” and then smiled, looking at him thoughtfully. “I can’t wait to see you as a father, Fitz. Watch you teach our little one about life and science and space…” Fitz avoided Jemma’s eyes as he couldn’t ignore the worried pang he felt in his gut whenever somebody said the “f” word. They were reading the books, of course (while he’d never excel at preparation quite like Jemma, he did think he was getting better at it), but he couldn’t shake the feeling that, without having grown up with a father, he missed out on some very important skills that he would now need. “Now, now, love,” he chided, hoping to keep things light, “Let’s wait for the data to come in before making such assumptions…” hoping she’d take the bait and let it go. Instead, she put her feet down on the floor and scooted closer to Fitz, taking his hands. “Fitz, look at me,” she said softly. He slowly looked up and gave her a weak smile.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” she asked. He sighed and removed one hand from her grasp to rub the back of his neck, his clear tell for when he was stressed. “It’s just…” he sighed again as he tried to put to words the myriad of emotions that had been swirling around in his head for months, “You know how thrilled I am about this, about us starting a family,” he started, hoping to quell any concerns she might have. “It’s just…what if I’m no good at it? Being a father. It’s… it’s not like I had any example growing up…” She took her hand up to stroke his cheek, practicing the loving patience she had slowly learned throughout her years with Fitz. “Fitz,” she said, smiling, infusing so much love and affection into just one word. “Just because you never knew your father doesn’t mean you don’t know how to be a parent. Think of all the other amazing role models in your life… I mean, your mum obviously, but so many others. Your aunts and uncles, Coulson, May, Mack and YoYo… You’ve been surrounded by people your whole life teaching you how to be a parent, even if you didn’t know it.” She continued, “And even if you didn’t have all of these amazing examples, you have such a big heart, so full of love, and our little one will feel that every day. And that’s absolutely the most important thing- that they feel loved. There are plenty of other things to worry about- global warming, the next alien threat, first dates, what if they like sport instead of science…” Fitz laughed. “But I promise, Fitz, I’ve never doubted for a second that you will be an amazing father.”

Fitz gave a small smile, not convinced, but feeling comforted by Jemma’s loving words. He kissed Jemma’s forehead and rested his chin against it, eyes closed, breathing her in. “Have I told you recently how incredibly lucky I am to have you?” She leaned up and gave him a quick kiss. “We’re both lucky,” she said, getting up. “So take that, cosmos.” The twinkle in her eye was evident as she got up to retrieve their snack while Fitz rolled his eyes and said loudly, “Ugh, Jemma, will you ever let that go??”

_I'm 45 for a moment_  
_The sea is high_  
_And I'm heading into a crisis_  
_Chasing the years of my life_

It was 2 am on a Tuesday, and Fitz was sitting in his home office, staring at his phone. Doing the math for the millionth time in his head, he figured it was probably 8 am in Stockholm… surely they’d be making the calls, by now, right? Maybe they had to call some of the other winners first? He refreshed the news on his tablet, hoping to see some announcements rolling in about the other Nobel winners. Maybe physics came later? He had tried so hard not to get his hopes up, _knew_ that there were so many other great candidates… but it was hard not to. And if he was being honest (and really, what’s the use in lying to yourself when you’re all alone in the middle of the night?), he really needed a win.

He reflected on the past 24 months and felt the familiar torrent of emotions settle into his heart. It started with an unexpected visit from May. The excitement of seeing her at their doorstep was followed by a 10,000 foot plummet when she told them the news. They said it was a stroke, she explained, but Fitz refused to believe that a man as epic as Phil Coulson could die so mundanely, so normally. Jemma immediately inundated May with thousands of questions- were they sure it wasn’t an LMD? How did they know it was a stroke? Could May send the medical reports so she could review them? May was lovingly patient with them, calmly answering their questions. Once the reality began to sink in, Fitz grabbed a bottle of whiskey and they spent the rest of the evening reminiscing, crying, laughing, and toasting the man who brought them all together, made them a family, and fought to keep that family safe with every fiber of his being.

After that, Fitz found himself reflecting on his own life accomplishments more and more and felt even more driven to make a mark on the world. There was so much in his life that he owed to Phil Coulson. He couldn’t even fathom what his life would have been like if it weren’t for him. He wanted his family, both immediate and chosen, to know that he was worth it, that Coulson didn’t waste his time on Fitz. He threw himself into his work, alternating late nights at the lab with working on new side projects with Jemma at home. He knew he was moving in the right direction, could feel the momentum shifting as his latest project began to take form. And when he was finally able to announce it to the public a year ago, the Nobel buzz began. He couldn’t imagine a better way to honor the life of Coulson than by winning such an epic, historic award. If he could actually win it he was certain he’d feel a little bit of his own self-imposed pressure lift off of his shoulders. He could look his friends and family in the eye and they’d know he was worth it, worth Coulson’s time and energy.

The sound of small footsteps coming down the stairs brought him out of his reverie. He turned and saw his pajama-clad son in the doorway, scratching his scruffy head of blonde curls. “P.J., you know your mum will have my hide if she finds you down here at this hour…” P.J. sighed. “I know, da, but I couldn’t sleep. Plus, I wanna be here when you get the call.” He entered the room and sat down next to his father, legs dangling from the desk chair as he spun it back and forth. Fitz chuckled. P.J. had certainly inherited his mother’s optimism. “You know as well as I do that there’s a good chance I won’t get the call,” Fitz slightly admonished him. P.J. looked down sheepishly and Fitz continued, “But you could help distract me. Why don’t you tell me about your day at school today?”

“Oh, you know,” PJ started, “Same old day at the Academy. Music history, maths, then ensemble rehearsal…” While P.J. didn’t end up being the scientist they had been at his age nor the athlete they had feared he could become, he was growing into a wonderfully talented musician, earning entrance into one of the most prestigious music academies in the country. As his son continued to tell him about his day, he could see the same passion he and Jemma felt about science burning in his eyes, laced in his movements. It made his heart swell with pride to know his son had found something that made him as happy as science made his parents. It was early, but he already knew that P.J. was destined for great things in music. Whether he choose to teach, or perform, or do something entirely different, Fitz slowly realized that their son (and the twins, of course) was by far the greatest accomplishment of his life. As he sat in that thought, he started to feel a little embarrassed at how wrapped up he had become around the idea of winning the Nobel when his greatest accomplishments greeted him at home every single day. Thinking back on that particular late night conversation where Jemma so lovingly pointed out the different influences Fitz had in his life, he could see Coulson’s influence on the way they raised their children, could point out the specific traits that he knew came either directly or indirectly from him. Maybe, just maybe, he mused, this- his family- was the greatest way he could honor Coulson’s life. By continuing to raise their children with the same concern for others, the steadfast loyalty to family, the dedication to the greater good… that would certainly live on much longer than any silly physics discovery he could make, right?

He felt us son elbow him in the side, “Ugh, da! Are you even listening??” P.J. groaned. “Sorry, son.” Fitz apologized. “I spaced out a bit there. Just thinking about how proud of you I am.” He ruffled P.J.’s hair and grinned. “Keep telling me about that monster of a piece you’re working on.” As P.J. opened his mouth to continue, Fitz’s phone buzzed against the desk. P.J.’s eyes went wide as he jumped up and looked down at the phone. “Da…. It’s an international number. It’s them!” He shouted, much too loudly for the time of night it was. Fitz took a deep breath. With shaking hands, he picked up the phone and answered. “Hello?”

“Hello, is this Dr. Leopold Fitz?” a foreign-accented woman asked. Fitz suppressed the cringe from hearing his first name, “Yes, this is he.”

“Dr. Fitz, this is Kaci Kullman Five calling from the Nobel Committee. I’m sure you know why we’re calling…”

_15 there's still time for you_  
_Time to buy and time to lose yourself_  
_Within a morning star_

_15 I'm all right with you_  
_15, there's never a wish better than this_  
_When you only got a hundred years to live_

_Half time goes by_  
_Suddenly you’re wise_  
_Another blink of an eye_  
_67 is gone_  
_The sun is getting high_  
_We're moving on..._

_I'm 99 for a moment_  
_Time for just another moment_  
_And I'm just dreaming_  
_Counting the ways to where you are_

His days consisted of fleeting moments of consciousness. He was just so tired all of the time, he could barely stay awake. His dreams were mostly relived memories of his life- their life- and every time he woke up, he would see another family member by his bed, holding his hand with tearful smiles. When he had the energy, he’d squeeze their hands back, letting them know he knew they were there. It wasn’t long now, he knew that. Most of his family was surprised that he had even lasted this long. It had been three months since he said goodbye to Jemma, kissing her forehead and promising to see her soon as she took her final breaths. They had lived such wonderfully beautiful, complicated, full lives, and his heart was full of love and gratitude for the family and life they had built. He was so grateful for the time he was given, and could feel himself in conflict between wanting to stay and have one more moment with his family and being ready to leave and join Jemma. As he drifted to sleep again, his mind raced with memories.

 _15 there's still time for you_  
This time it would be different…

 _22 I feel her too_  
She- their friendship- had lit his life on fire, colors and excitement everywhere...

 _33 you’re on your way_  
He kissed Jemma’s forehead and rested his chin against it, eyes closed, breathing her in.

_Every day's a new day..._

His final thoughts were of the first time he saw the love of his life, just a picture on a computer screen. All he had hoped for was a new friend, but instead he got a best friend, partner, lover, soulmate. He got a life filled with adventure, love, laughter, and joy. As he faded from this world and joined her in the next, he knew he couldn’t have wished for anything better even if he had tried. 

_15 there's still time for you_  
_Time to buy and time to choose_  
_Hey 15, there's never a wish better than this_  
_When you only got a hundred years to live_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I tried to make this as simple as possible and avoided a lot of specifics in favor of just some quick glimpses. There might be some general glossing over of details, but hopefully you still get the fluffy feeling. 
> 
> Feedback always welcome!!


	3. Fear You Won't Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place at the beginning of Season 2, just a few weeks into Jemma's undercover assignment. A recurring nightmare forces her to do some much-needed thinking...
> 
> Based off of Joshua Radin's Fear You Won't Fall which is beautiful and can be used in a million different ways for Fitzsimmons. Check it out here: https://youtu.be/ZiGgoCnmJoI

_Digging a hole_  
_And the walls are caving in behind me_  
_Air's getting thin_  
_But I'm trying, I'm breathing in  
Come find me_

**  
“** **_Fitz!_ ** **”**

This is what Jemma screams, using the breath that he gave her and reaching out with her hand to break through the surface of the water. 

Her eyes, wide and frantic, tear through the room as she begins to register that she’s not in the middle of the ocean, and the sheet she’s holding onto with a vice grip isn’t his collar. Her heart pounds in her chest as she realizes she’s soaked through another set of sheets with sweat and tears.

_(How many sets of sheets can she use before someone gets suspicious?_ She wonders. _How many times can she scream and call out his name before the neighbors notice?)_

She tries to steady her breath, using the visualization exercise she’d read about- breathe in the color you find most calming, breathe out the color you find most stressful.  **Breathe in blue, the color of the sky,when she’s not tumbling through it.** **Breathe out black, the color at the bottom of the ocean, where there’s no light.**  She feels her heartbeat slow a bit, and with it the now familiar conflicted feelings of relief and disappointment wash over her. Relief that she’s not in the ocean, that she’s alive and Fitz is alive. Disappointment that she’s here, in her Hydra apartment, living her secret undercover life, and Fitz is back at the Playground, recovering. Without her.

Knowing she likely won’t go back to sleep anytime soon, she turns on her lamp, sits up, and looks around. She blinks rapidly to adjust to the light, releasing the last few tears clinging to her eyelashes.

  
_It hasn't felt like this before_  
_It hasn't felt like home  
Before you_

  
Her apartment is everything she could want in a living space. It’s tasteful, bright with color, with windows that let in all the natural light. When Coulson told her that this would be a “long term mission,” he didn’t give her any other time frame or assurances of length, just a small allowance to decorate the apartment and make it her own. It didn’t take long for her to realize that she was basically recreating the apartment she and Fitz shared back at SciOps. The dark grey tattered couch that caught her eye on Craigslist that looked like an exact replica of the one they had in their living room, the green throw blanket that reminded her of the quilt Fitz’s mother had made them for Christmas. She even found herself keeping Fitz’s favorite beer in her refrigerator. She was looking for any source of comfort in this new, important (terrifying) mission she was on. If she was going to spend ten hours a day as a Hydra agent, she wanted to come home to something that would calm her, ground her, remind her of who she really is.

(Upon reflection much later, she’ll realize the answer was written all around her. It was in couches, blankets, and beer-- she doesn’t know who she is without him.)

But even with all of the reminders, it doesn’t feel right. There’s still something missing. When she comes home every night, the comfort she receives barely begins to dull the sharp, pointed ache inside of her. There is no one there to greet her at the door with a slice of pizza and the next episode of Dr. Who, or to wake her up when she’s fallen asleep at her desk surrounded by papers, or to drag her outside at 3 am to watch a particularly spectacular meteor shower. She remembers something her mother told her right before she left for the Academy, during a tearful admission of how scared she was to leave home.

“Home is where the heart is,” Jemma whispers into the dark.

It’s becoming clearer and clearer to her that as much as she tries to replicate the feelings of home, her heart isn’t there. It’s with one very important thing that she can’t bring back…  
 

_And I know it's easy to say_  
_But it's harder to feel this way_  
_And I miss you more than I should  
Than I thought I could, I can't get my mind off of you_

  
To say she misses him would be a crude description of the depths of emotion she feels engulfing her every day. Depths that she had been carefully treading, just at the surface, still too scared to even begin to navigate them. This is the longest she’s ever been physically away from him, and by far the longest she’s gone without talking to him. There was a week here, a week there, usually never more than that, even during holidays. She knew it would be difficult, she had prepared herself for that, and she’s not surprised that she misses him- she knew she would- but the ache in her heart is more than she could have ever imagined feeling, more than she’s ever felt before. She really thought some space between the two of them would allow her mind to clear a bit. Instead, everything feels a little hazy as she tries to operate in this new Fitz-less world of hers, everything around her dulled like she’s heading into a fog and can’t find her way home.

She thinks about how it’s all her fault. She thinks about how she failed to find a solution at the bottom of the ocean, so instead she took his last breath. She thinks about how hard she tried to fix him afterwards and how spectacularly that failed. She thinks about how her leaving has to make him better because it was the opposite of what she wanted to do. If her instincts kept leading her to failure, then logic dictates that this has to lead to success.

She sighs, gets up from her bed, walks over to her kitchen, and turns on the electric tea kettle. She carefully prepares a cup of chamomile tea, one of her favorite comfort blends. She doesn’t need a degree in psychology to know what this recurring nightmare means. She knows she’s been avoiding truly parsing out what happened in the med pod, what happened afterwards, and what led her to here. She also realizes that now, by herself, surrounded by as much comfort as she can fabricate, is as good of a time as any to maybe start exploring those depths, to let herself sink a little further into them. She reasons that maybe by attempting to navigate them, by naming some of these emotions she’s never felt before, she may be able to control them. She aches for that familiar comfort of being in control, of knowing all the variables.

As the water begins to boil she starts to pull at the tangled knot in the pit of her stomach. Her heart clenches in fear at the first tug, but after being at Hydra for this long, it’s now a familiar feeling. She pulls a little more on a particular string, taking it piece by piece like the scientist she is. Maybe she can analyze it and come to a solid conclusion, anything really, to help her cope with how much she aches for him, misses him, her best friend in the world.

**_And you’re more than that…_ **

She tenses as she examines this first piece carefully, testing out its sensitivity like a new wound or bruise. She didn’t allow herself to think about those words for so long. During Fitz’s coma, she only focused on how to get him to wake up- promising him things, willing it with her mind, praying, bargaining, really anything. And once he did wake up, all she focused on was his recovery- pouring over research and creating a personalized recovery plan that she was so certain would work. All she wanted was to help him recover, to be there for him. But now, in the dead of the night, with nothing to distract her, when the nightmares that she knows all too well keep her from falling back to sleep for yet another night, she can’t fight it anymore; she can’t ignore those words, even if she wanted to.

**_More than that…_ **

**Breathe in the blue of her first bicycle** **, breathe out black, a starless night**.

She tugs a little more.

**_Beside you the whole damn time..._ **

She thinks about Fitz, ever loyal Fitz, always at her side, always there for her. How he’s always the first person she turns to for advice, solace, comfort. He’s also the first person she wants to share her joy with, her successes and discoveries. The most important person in her life, really. She can’t imagine her life without him, and she had never questioned that, never thought about what that would look like further down the road. She just always assumed it would be him and her, together. Couldn’t it be that simple?

As a scientist, she naturally sees the world in rules, patterns, categories. B is for blue is for biological. F is for Fitz is for friend. Is for forever. It was a simple formula that gave her all of the control and comfort she needed to function in her world. It was safe, easy, and predictable. But ever since entering the Bus, she’s had a harder and harder time keeping things organized. The comforts of black and white, good and bad, friend and foe, have been slowly melting around her. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she focused all of her energy into keeping these things in their respective places, they bled into each other, mixing into things she can’t categorize, things she can’t label. It’s messy and it’s hard and it’s disorganized and it suffocates her. Fitz, who he is to her, who they are as a pair, how she feels about him? It’s just one more thing that she can no longer organize into a simple category. Her brain itches to find a clean solution. F is for Fitz is for...

**_Home is where the heart is_ ** **...**

A small cottage pops into her head, from a family holiday in Perthshire ages ago. She remembers it so vividly, how lovely and quaint it was, perched on a beautiful green hillside. Still, after all of these years, when she thinks of her far away future, when she allows herself to look further down her path, she imagines herself settling down there at some point, maybe starting a family.

As she lets her mind wander further down this trail, of what her settled down Perthshire life would be like, she sees two little children, with blond curly hair and deep blue eyes. She feels a warmth bloom in her stomach, soothing the aches and knots that usually sit there. The warmth starts to spread through her limbs until it reaches her heart, surrounding her, gently urging her on. She imagines these two little children running into the arms of someone, and that’s when she sees him. His face, older and gentler, laughing. Holding her hand. Kissing her. Her cheeks flush with desire.

_Oh god_.

“Love,” she whispers. She covers her mouth to catch the word, to try and keep it secret and inside of her, but she’s not quick enough and it floats away, out in the open.

Love. Love love  **love** . Not  _just_  love. She had loved Fitz for as long as she had known him- he’s her best friend in the world, her partner. No, she is  _in love_  with Fitz. The feeling fills her veins ( _or has it always been there and she's just now putting a name to it?_ She wonders). That’s what it is- it’s what pulled them out of the ocean, it’s what kept her by Fitz’s side for those nine horrible days, and, she realizes sadly, it’s even what made her agree to this assignment in the first place, agree to leave him. The panic rises in her as new tears start to roll down her cheeks.  _Oh god_. She’s in love with him. And she left him.

**Breathe in blue, the color of his favorite jumper** **. Breathe out black, the horrible screen that she stared at, watching his heart beat in little white blips.**

This is love. This is why it hurts so much. 

_  
I know you're scared that soon I'll be over it_  
 _That's part of it all_  
 _Part of the beauty of falling in love with you_  
 _Is the fear you won't fall_  


She keeps breathing in and out, trying to calm the overwhelming gauntlet of emotions she’s now suddenly so easily able to name. So much for control. The knot is untied, the dam broken, and she’s left to acclimate to this new reality, one where she’s in love with her best friend in the world. She feels confusion and happiness and guilt and longing and peace and chaos and… and...

_Fear._

She knows Fitz more or less admitted to feeling the same way, but all of that was before. Before his coma, before his struggle to recover, before his hurtful outbursts and anger and confusion. They had strategically avoided the topic, and honestly, Jemma wasn’t even sure at first if he remembered saying it. But she also never asked. She wanted so badly to just focus on his recovery. What were silly feelings worth if you couldn’t sound out the words to express them? She had reasoned that they could sort out the rest of that later, after. After Fitz woke up and they found some semblance of normalcy and predictability back in their lives. But suddenly weeks had gone by, and the tension between them, of so much unsaid, was suffocating both of them to the point where they had been reduced to one-word conversations. And when Jemma would try for more, they would inevitably lead to an angry outburst from Fitz, followed by a noticeable step back in his recovery. Each time that happened, she felt like she was pushing him back down under water, just to see him come splashing back up, spurting in anger.

She just wanted her best friend back.

Jemma sighs, running her hands over her face and through her hair. She left him. The last words she said to him were a lie. Under the premise that she was just popping over to see her parents in Sheffield, she had a small bag with her as she walked through the lab to say goodbye. “I’ll see you soon, Fitz,” she promised as she used all of her energy to keep her emotions in check, remembering that this small amount of pain was an easy sacrifice to help him recover. It’s the very least she could do. But certainly he knows by now, six weeks later, that she’s not still with her parents. Would Coulson tell him where she is?

There is a thrilling risk in loving Fitz, she realizes, a freeing vulnerability that she had never, ever let herself experience before. Even now, as she’s undercover at Hydra, exposing herself to so many unknown dangers and risks, looking Bakshi in the eye every day and knowing any hint of her truth would send her “upstairs,” this feels the most risky. There’s a chance (a good chance, she would venture) that he doesn’t feel this way anymore, that after so much tension and difficulty, the gap is too far to bridge. That he wants nothing to do with her and she’s the one left wanting more. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, sure, but things had felt so terribly damaged between them… would Fitz really welcome her back with open arms? With an open heart? She feels her breaths getting shorter and shorter as she thinks through the terrible possibilities.

**Breathe in blue, the color of his eyes when he laughs.** **Breathe out black, her jacket with the Hydra pin draped across her chair.**

  
_And I hate the phone_  
_But I wish you'd call_  
_I thought being alone  
Was better than, was better than_

  
For her first few weeks at Hydra, she found herself grabbing her phone multiple times a day, instinctively wanting to text Fitz about any number of things- a fascinating discovery she had made, Hydra’s horrid organizational systems, observations about her coworkers, anything at all. But she agreed to go dark. That was part of the deal. She understands. Cognitively, she gets that keeping her isolated and alone is the best way to ensure both the success of the mission and her safety. But emotionally, she feels adrift without her rock, her support system.

Now that she’s named this, that she’s accepted this new reality, she feels an urgent desperation to fix things. To make sure that Fitz knows she didn’t abandon him, that her actions were all out of love. That he’s more than that to her too. Her lips ache to say all of the words that have now made themselves known to her, her fingers tremble of their own accord to write it all down and send it to him. She sighs in frustration, realizing not only can she not contact him, but she has no idea what kind of state he’s in. She wants Coulson to stop giving her vague answers when she asks about his recovery. She needs solid evidence that this is working, that her sacrifice is worth it. If she can at least confirm that, she can hold out a little longer, hold onto this secret and bare this pain a little more.

  
_And I know it's easy to say_  
_But it's harder to feel this way_  
_And I miss you more than I should_  
_Than I thought I could, can't get my mind off of you_

  
She sits on her bed and reaches between her mattress and bed spring to pull out one of his jumpers that she stole and brought with her. She hugs it to her as she inhales his fading scent. It helps focus her racing mind and calm her. They can fix this. They’re always better working together, and no amount of trauma or tragedy or time can change that, right?  _When_  she comes back, they will have time to fix this. It becomes her new mantra, “When I come back, we will fix this.” She whispers it over and over again, willing it to be true, letting it dull some of the new fear that now sits inside of her that she’s messed this all up for good.

She turns off her light and lies back down. She feels utterly exhausted and finds herself returning to the uncomfortable balance between relief and disappointment. Relief that she had made some progress on her own, figured out a little more of the complicated web of emotion she feels surrounded by. Disappointment that there is nothing she can do about it right now. Right now she has a mission to complete. Two missions, really- to continue to infiltrate Hydra and gather intel on what they’re doing, but more importantly, to do everything she can to help Fitz recover. Even if it means feeling like this, she knows it will be worth it.

Taking in one last calming breath, she pulls the jumper close to her as she feels sleep begin to tug at her consciousness. He’ll get better, she’ll prove herself, and then, maybe then, they can continue that conversation that started at the bottom of the ocean. “Goodnight, Fitz,” she whispers into the dark, “When I come back, we will fix this.” She wills their psychic link to carry her words across the miles to him.

  
_And I know it's easy to say_  
_But it's harder to feel this way ..._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mostly see this as canon compliant because while it may be a little earlier than canon for Jemma to be so aware of her feelings, I've always thought she was aware of them much earlier and just held them close to the chest. Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Many many many thanks to @fitzsimmonsy for offering to beta and @agentcalliope for helping me make the words cut a little deeper. I'm super grateful for both of your help!!


End file.
